


The Demon of Small Death

by spooklock



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bathtub, Bottom Aziraphale, Bottom!Aziraphale, Bubble Bath, Candles, Coming Untouched, Crowley Cooks, Crowley is sweet, Denial, Desperation, Dom Crowley, Dom!Crowley, Edging, Empathy Bonds, Established Relationship, First Time, Handfasting, Kitchen Sex, Levitation, M/M, Neck Kissing, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Pining, Post Apocalypse, Public Sex, Repression, Romance, Safewords, Sex Dreams, Slow Sex, Soul Merge, Soulmate Bond, Soulmates, Tantric Sex, Telepathy Sex, Top!Crowley, empath sex, fantasies, fantasy sharing, light dom, proposal, soul bonds, supernatural sex, they're so in love, top crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-16 12:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21508228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spooklock/pseuds/spooklock
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale discover certain perks to an intimate relationship between supernatural beings such as themselves.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 117





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This concept began as a headcanon I sent @top-crowley-central on tumblr. Some of the text in this fic is taken straight from those messages.

It surprised neither of them, how effortlessly they slipped into a closer relationship. Feeling confident that their home offices were curtailed for at least a while now, the inertia of six thousand years was unstoppable with the apoca-miss behind them. Friendly lunches and dinners became intimate and quiet evenings in secluded corner booths under the cover of atmospheric lighting and heavy summer afternoons picnicking in the shade of weeping willow branches. Clasped hands, slow kisses, and exploratory touches on waists, low backs and even a thigh now and then. Six thousand years admiring something and suddenly the glass has been removed- anyone would touch like they do. 

They both very well knew what they were doing and exactly where they wanted it to lead. But a lingering sense of doubt- not about one another, but for the reciprocity of their desires. It hadn’t come up- Crowley felt that, if he were to break that particular seal on that particular topic, he would be pressuring Aziraphale or making him feel as though Crowley had any certain expectations. Aziraphale had never brought it up either- it felt odd to him. As though it were too far past the appropriate time to have said something, considering the span of their relationship over time. Like only having asked someone’s name after months of frequent encounters. That didn't stop either of them from thinking about it, though. And they both did- quite often in fact. There were times when the two would say a polite and chaste goodbye, only to shut the door gently and immediately sink into indulgent fantasies of one another.

Crowley spent many an evening with his back pressed to the door of his flat, eyes shut. Aziraphale’s name slipping uncontrollably over the edge of his lips. He savored thoughts of the angel, warm and bare and so, so responsive, tucked away in Crowley’s bedroom for days at a time. Many times now, Aziraphale has exchanged reading all night for thinking about Crowley. What might it be like to know him like that? What do his hands feel like where I need them? what does he sound like when I touch him? 

About a week after their dinner at the Ritz, Aziraphale is working quietly in the shop on a sunny afternoon. He's had a few customers in on account of the rare London weather, but none interested enough to buy anything. He stands at the counter reading and eyeing a man wandering about the rows now and then, when suddenly he hears Crowley's voice in his mind, "Mmmm, my angel. I miss you. I want you, too. " He swears he can feel Crowley's arms circle around his middle. "You're so gorgeous...can't believe you're finally with me..."Crowley murmurs into his ear. He feels familiar lips in an unfamiliar place- they start in his hair, trace down along the shell of his ear, and find a home on the side of his neck. Crowley kisses him so reverently, as though he gets just as much out of kissing Aziraphale as he would were the roles reversed. Aziraphale is certainly no stranger to invasive thoughts of Crowley, but this one truly overtakes him. He tries valiantly to go about his business, but simply can't help himself. As soon as the man leaves he locks up, relieved to finally reach the privacy of the back room and satisfy his cravings after fighting them for long enough. He finds the experience to be even more enjoyable than others, which is saying something. Thinking of Crowley never fails to result in intense waves of satisfaction coursing through his body. But this day, the first of many days after, the thoughts are even more intense than they had been. When Aziraphale first began fantasizing about Crowley, things were new and fresh. Every thought was exciting because it was the first time he was thinking it. And while his fantasies of Crowley never exactly got old, they did become familiar. But since their relationship began to bud, the fantasies had become, even more so than they had been in the beginning, delicious. That day, that first time things had reached a new and undeniable level, Aziraphale found himself entirely powerless to his fantasy. He pants and whimpers, arching into hands...a mouth...a body he knows to be Crowley's but isn't actually there. 

******

One night, Crowley drops him off at the shop. They lean together and kiss lovingly. It’s not so chaste, but it’s far from hungry. Like a small bite of chocolate- just enough to feel it.

“Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

They kiss twice more before Aziraphale exits the car. Crowley catches what he thinks could be a longing glance over the angel’s shoulder once he's reached the door, but he resigns himself to believe it was just a last look goodbye for the night. On his drive home, Crowley reflects on his happiness with Aziraphale. How safe they feel, the joy of finally getting to say and do things he has longed to enjoy for six millennia. His thoughts are nothing if not pure.

Until they aren’t.

One moment he's playing back their quiet walk along the pond. The next, Aziraphale is pressed along his body entirely naked, gasping in his ear. He swerves, returning to the present as if he's woken up from a vivid dream. A daydream is one thing, but Crowley can't help feeling like he was truly there with Aziraphale for that moment. It wasn’t odd at all for his mind to interject such a thought about the angel. What was odd was how real it felt, and how quickly it took him over. Thoughts tend to knock or announce themselves upon entering. This one broke his door down with an axe. Just as he pondered the strangeness of this occurrence, there it was once more. Aziraphale; flushed from head to toe, pressed to him and arching into his mouth. Crowley felt it. He heard it, and saw it. He tasted it. Aziraphale, grasping at his hair. Aziraphale, heavy on his tongue. Aziraphale, sighing his name.

Back at the bookshop, Aziraphale has taken himself upstairs, tucked himself in, and forgotten his tattered copy of an old and faithful romance novel in favor of something even more tantilizing. He pictures Crowley in the bed with him, mouth on his neck like before. Only this time, he takes his mouth all the way down Aziraphale's body, and after much teasing of his inner thighs, his hip creases, his tummy, Crowley finally takes him in between his lips. 

Crowley felt it- Aziraphale, pressed to him. Flushed lightly from head to toe, and Arching into his mouth. He feels it. He hears it, and sees it. He tastes it. Aziraphale, grasping at his hair. Aziraphale, heavy on his tongue. Aziraphale, sighing his name...What the Hell? He swerves back again and starts to panic. Feeling as though he's flashing between two equally real places while driving is definitely unsafe. Crowley never used to care about driving safely. But now that he's experienced firsthand what it's like to have Aziraphale discorporated, he generally tries to avoid it more than he once did.

The angel pops back in, this time with high pitched noises of gratitude and encouragement. As Aziraphale imagines what Crowley's mouth might feel like- the wet heat, the dragging slide of Crowley's lips, that tongue Aziraphale has had only the smallest taste of- Crowley feels all too familiar the reactions of his body to these…images? Experiences? It does take him by surprise, though, how little it seems to be taking to get him there. Just seconds ago he began having these thoughts. But now, his breathing has shallowed, his head has gone foggy. He feels that rush of bliss, circulating in his blood. The lava like heat in his muscles. The heaviness in his abdomen. The sudden intensity is too much for his Earthly body. 

“Oh for the love of Someone…” he thinks. He has enough wit about him still to pull off into an alley before…

“Ahhhh-Aziraphale…”

And there he is, as if waiting for him. Aziraphale grinds up into Crowley’s hips once, finishing them both.

******

Crowley drives home once his mind has cleared. He swears Aziraphale is holding his hand.  
  


The next day they take in a play, choosing seats in the back so they can talk quietly. Crowley feels immensely unsure. Should he ask? Will Aziraphale think he's strange or creepy? But he doesn't have to. Aziraphale’s hand on his leg starts moving upwards. Past the knee. Over the swell of the thigh. Resting briefly on the hip, before traveling just to the left, and settling heavily in his lap.

He hates to stop him. Truly. But here is not the place for them to cross that line. He'd much rather take Zira home and really enjoy him. They had years for discreet acts in dark places. Crowley wants to put the look of ecstasy on his angel’s face and sear it into his memory forever so that, if they ever did do something such as fool around in a theatre, he doesn't have to guess at how it might look

“Don't take me wrong here, any other time I would encourage such a thing. But I would much rather have you properly before I have you so, so improperly.”

“I'm sorry?”

“You know. A bit of romance- maybe some candles. Dinner. Maybe even a dance or two. Then I take you to mine, kiss you all over. Ask permission to take your clothes off. ”

“Uh, oh…well, yes I agree. That would be lovely, Crowley. But why, I mean, what prompted such a discussion?”

“You’re joking, right?” Crowley laughs, and then he looks down. He still feels Aziraphale’s hand, but it’s not there. Crowley looks back up confused and near shock.

“Alright, I don’t mean to alarm you but I’ve been having these…experiences. Where I feel you touching me...but you aren't.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale can't help but flash to the very intense fantasies he's had lately. 

“Yeah, last night I nearly crashed my car because you were…well. suddenly with me. And just now I swear your hand was crawling up my leg.”

“Oh, well…I’m not sure why that’s happening. But…well, it’s a touch embarrassing… I was thinking of you…those times. And imagining doing those things with you. ”

“So you mean to tell me that when you have a fantasy about me, it gets...what? Broadcast into my mind?”

“And...well. I do believe, perhaps, I've been experiencing similar things. In the afternoons, on occasion." Crowley's blush is visible even in the darkness. "I have heard of beings like us experiencing telepathy and other things when they grow close,” Aziraphale whispers. They are quiet for a few long moments. Finally, Crowley breaks.

“Let’s go.”

“What? Where? Oh Crowley I’m sorry.if I="

Crowley kisses Aziraphale. It isn't chaste, or sweet. It's a whole damn chocolate cake.

“Bed.”

******

Crowley hauls Aziraphale out of the theatre quietly. To an onlooker, it would appear Aziraphale was in trouble with his husband. As Crowley pulled away in the Bentley, he had to break the silence.

"So...so you feel it too? I mean, you feel it when I...""

"Oh, yes. I didn't realize what it was until now, but I...Oh."

Crowley looks over, slightly concerned. Aziraphale is flushed from the tops of his cheeks past his collar.

"Angel?"

"That dream I had! I thought it was astonishingly real!"

Crowley feels nervous. All of his private thoughts of Aziraphale are, as he is just finding out, not so private. He cringes at the particularly debauched ones.

"...Dream?"

"Oh, yes. You were...well. Crowley, you had me absolutely speechless."

"The bathtub." Crowley recalls quietly. Aziraphale is nothing if not vocal, but this particular time, Crowley pictured what it would be like to make him feel so incredible, he couldn't say anything at all. Images flash before both of their eyes. London rain falling outside, both of them just in from the cold. A hot bath, fire light, a bottle of wine. One of Crowley's hands disappearing below the bubbles while the other eases Aziraphale's head back onto his shoulder. He holds him there gently, feeling his heart pound in his chest and neck. The other strokes and rolls him firmly. Crowley wrings sighs from his partner's body, eyes closed in surrender. Aziraphale rolls his hips back, filling the gap between Crowley's open thighs in a wonderfully satisfying way. As things reach their summit, though, Aziraphale can hardly make a sound at all. His mouth falls open, his chest heaving forward as if attempting to whimper, sob, scream, anything. But he is too far gone for even the smallest of cries. 

"No! Not while I'm driving!" Crowley complains, sounding more disappointed than angry. As the shared memory of Crowley's fantasy and Aziraphale's dream fades, (can it be a memory if it didn't happen on this plain?) they exhale, trying to regain composure.

"So all of those times I was minding my business at the shop- Crowley! Do you know how many times I had to fake being ill so I could shoo a customer out because I was so suddenly overcome with thoughts of you I couldn't hide it!" Crowley snickers, eye crinkles visible even behind his glasses.

"Anthony J Crowley that is not funny!"

"I'm sorry, angel! I am! I just can't believe you saw- ALL of those things I thought about you. I mean, some of it was so...unhinged."

Aziraphale takes a brief pause before speaking again in a voice much lower than his usual register. "I know..." he confesses. 

He recalls the feeling he got one afternoon about a week prior. Lace wrapped around his skin. The leather thigh high boots. The blindfold. The restraints- silk ties around his wrists, keeping his arms behind his back. And Crowley, sucking and mouthing at his lace covered cock. The feeling stayed with him for almost an hour, driving him entirely over the edge of sanity. And despite his best efforts, despite bringing himself off twice, the feeling remained until he felt Crowley remove the lace panties (which he wasn't actually wearing) and let just the head of his cock slide into him from behind. That afternoon had been equal parts incredible and frustrating. The thought creeps in to his mind now- he's finally about to go to bed with Crowley. The person he has wanted for centuries. the person he has had so, so many indulgent and incredible fantasies about. The person who, apparently, is an absolutely remarkable lover, and is no doubt about to destroy him thoroughly. Likely, multiple times. Aziraphale can't help himself. His mind creates it for him; the thought of crawling across the center console and into Crowley's lap. His eyelids feel heavy as he thinks about how badly he wants Crowley.

"Pull over, pull over..." he begs in Crowley's ear "Please...ah, Crowley, please, I..."

Neither of them are sure if he said it out loud or not.

"Angel, I've waited..." he breathes heavily, trying to gain control, "I've waited thousands of years to take you to bed, and i refuse to do so anywhere else but in bed!"

Crowley entwines his hand with Aziraphale's. They both shake with restraint. the rest of the ride is silent, neither daring to move or breathe or think. They arrive at Crowley's place, and for a few moments, they surprise themselves. Walking calmly, quiet minds and placid thoughts. Crowley's hand shakes with the keys as he tries to unlock his door, though. He struggles a few times to get ahold of the right one. He gets a grasp on the correct key, the little bronze one n the middle. He feels the key make contact with the lock, but drops the set. He grabs them quickly, trying again, but before hee's fully standing they hit the floor once more.

Aziraphale whimpers quietly. "Fuck it," Crowley says, abandoning the keys, "I need you."

Too far past patient, Crowley miracles them both inside, deciding it was worth the paperwork. One second Aziraphale is staring at the carpet in the hallway outside Crowley's flat, the next he's being thrown against the opposite side of the door, with one of Crowley's thighs pressed between his legs. And thank Someone it's there, too- Aziraphale's knees fail him entirely as pleasure and satisfaction strike his nerves like lightning. His thoughts still as an absolute crescendo of an orgasm takes possession of him. Everything is still. Everything is divine, and white hot. After an unmeasured amount of time, he has the distinct feeling of re-entering his body, just as it had felt when he was re-corporated. His muscles tense and release as heat fills him like a fever breaking. He buckles forward, too weak to hold himself up. He drapes himself against Crowley, who bless him, somehow has the strength to hold him up when he's entirely dead weight. They pant together, feeling their heart rates begin to slow. Crowley 'mmmm's his way into the crook of Aziraphale's neck.

Aziraphale asks sheepishly, just above a whisper, "Did you also...?"

Crowley hums his affirmative answer into the angel's neck, pressing exhausted kisses behind his ear.

"I thought...you wanted to..."

"I do, I-do...I-" he starts laughing weakly. "Didn't intend for that to have been the main event. And I think we have to actually have sex in order to have...well, had it. So maybe it doesn't count." They both laugh now, Aziraphale still draped over his shoulder. 

"What, you didn't enjoy it?"

"I-" Crowley gasps, laughing too hard, "I very much enjoyed it, sweetheart, I just am not sure if it was sex or not."

They both get the giggles out with Crowley swinging Aziraphale's legs around to carry him bridal style through his flat. He can't help reattaching his mouth to his partner's neck though. 

"Ahh, Crowley,"

It becomes suddenly obvious to Crowley that, if they were to get technical, their first time together was most certainly not over. Both his and Aziraphale's efforts were still just as hard as before. Aziraphale bares his throat to Crowley, letting his head fall back over Crowley's arm completely. Crowley finally crosses the doorway into his bedroom, nearly tossing Aziraphale onto the neatly made duvet. He can't help but lean in to suck and bite gently at Aziraphale's jugular, who sighs quietly, having gotten precisely what he wanted from Crowley. Crowley pulls back up, resting his forehead against Aziraphale's. He had never seen Crowley's eyes so wide or dark, and can't help but to touch his face gently, like a piece of art to perfect to resist. Even if it was a bit forbidden.

"Can I-"

"Yes."

Crowley chuckles, grinning as he reattaches his mouth to Aziraphale's neck. He removes one hand from his partner's hip, snapping his fingers to eliminate their clothes. And there it is again, the feeling of Aziraphale pressed naked against his body. His legs twisted up around Crowley's, his hip crease cradling Crowley's sharper hipbone. His arms around Crowley's neck, hands in his har. His breath in Crowley's ear, heaving chest and rolling hips. His hard cock aligned with Crowley's. And his voice, even warmer, even sweeter, asking so, so politely for more.

Crowley's hands find Aziraphale's low back again, lifting him and pressing them together. They both groan into one another's shoulders, slamming their eyes shut and just savoring for a moment, the feelings of breathing and moving in unison. With the edge off, things have slowed enough to truly feel one another. Crowley kisses ravenously down Aziraphale's neck and shoulder, but feels his body react to it as well. As though the arousal Aziraphale gets from the touch is being shared. Aziraphale tightens his fingers in Crowley's hair, feeling tingles in his spine like it's happening to him. 

"Okay, so what is that?" Crowley asks, voice breaking with restraint. 

"I'm not entirely sure. But if i were to guess, I would say it's some kind of empathic bond. I think...perhaps, as we grow closer, our bonds strengthen. So we may not have shared telepathic thoughts before because we had been apart. But now..."

Crowley's hips thrust forward in a stutter, causing them both to gasp.

"So not only can we unintentionally astral project ourselves to one another telepathically-" He groans as the feeling of his hand taking ahold of Aziraphale's cock lights up his own nerves "...But we can also share feelings, as in, tapping into the real life experiences of one another?" Crowley strokes him at an agonizingly slow pace, feeling his own body begin to ask for more. 

"Ah! It would...it would appear so. "

"Is that why we both came a few moments ago? I felt your pleasure through...ahhh...through empathy?" Crowley stops briefly to take both of them in hand. He's tentative, not sure how intense it could really get. They both still for a moment, trying to take in the sensation. The feeling of both being touched and feeling your partner's reactions as they are being touched simultaneously...

As they return a bit to themselves, Aziraphale confirms, "I-I think that's probably about right, yes- Oh!" A sudden and somewhat unexplained rush of pleasure washes over Aziraphale. 

"Sorry," Crowley chuckles, "I just think that's extremely sexy." They laugh weakly. The double onslaught of touch was taking a toll. "Ready?"

"Yes, yes"

Crowley strokes them more quickly, building the sensations to a breaking point. Just as they start to tip over, he slows to a near halt. Languid and exaggerated, the sudden change in pace creates an intense focus on the feeling of his hand on both of them, nerves absolutely sparking with reactivity. Crowley's body feels completely overrun with ecstasy. The entire plain of his skin seems to flash suddenly with heat as his vision whites out. He loses concept of time. He realizes he has left his body- likely it wasn't able to contain or even process such a feeling. This is the complication with supernatural beings inhabiting natural forms; sometimes the being experiences something the body simply can't absorb. Crowley has had six thousand years worth of orgasms before, but none come close to what he experiences while in bed with Aziraphale. the ecstasy follows him onward into the next plain, or even a few plains after that. At that level, he feels relief and satisfaction on a soul level. Nothing is wrong. Nothing has ever been wrong. There is order and love on every inch of existence, and nothing but unconditional joy can be sustained here. For a brief moment, a small, pink star appears to him in the distance somewhere among the white glow that stretches on for eternity. But as he reaches for it, he feels himself fading. 

He joins his body on the Earthly plain once more to find Aziraphale in a similar state. "Welcome back," the angel whispers. 

Crowley groans into Aziraphale's chest. He finds himself entirely collapsed onto his partner, coated from head to toe in a thick layer of cold sweat. He hides his face against the angel's skin, as if coming back down were waking up on a cold morning and he didn't want to get out of bed yet.

"That was incredible."

"Yes it was." Aziraphale sounds completely shocked. Not because he wasn't expecting it to be good; he just never dreamed anything like this could be possible.

"I can still feel it in my hands" Crowley mumbles into Aziraphale's chest, feeling his heartbeat against his forehead.

"I could be wrong, but I think I might be temporarily deaf in one ear." They laugh, astounded at what they've found together. Crowley grows still and quiet.

"Anything wrong, my love?"

"No, no, just thinking."

"About?"

"What else we might be able to do."

******

A few weeks pass and eventually they are able to leave Crowley's bedroom. Theyeven begin to manage some regular dates. On this particular evening, they went for a lovely drive, had a scrumptious dinner. Then immediately ended up in Aziraphale's bedroom (it was, in fact, much closer to the restaurant). A few hours after their arrival, Aziraphale slips out of bed to check the door is locked and everything is in place down in the shop. He hasn't been in to open the place for nearly a month, after all. As he's straightening some shelves, he unmistakably hears Crowley's voice, low and measured. 

"I can't stop thinking about your throat caught between my teeth," he looks around, but Crowley's nowhere nearby. A moment later, and "Fuck, angel. I want your thighs wrapped around my hips." This time he says aloud, "Alright dear, thaat's about enough. I'll be back upstairs shortly, don't make it harder for me." A shadow moves just slightly in his peripheral. 

"Wassamatter, angel? Feeling a bit-" suddenly Crowley is behind him, pressing against his back firmly. "Overwhelmed?" He's gone just as quickly, but the voice lingers. "I love this. I can have you so...easily." Crowley sends him vivid images of the two of them in various situations, but one in particular forces Aziraphale forward, clinging to the edge of an armchair to catch his breath. 

"Ah, the opera. Our private box- I had you twice on the floor that night. You were gorgeous; I simply couldn't help myself." Aziraphale gasps, knees buckling again like they had that first night. Suddenly Crowley is there, lowering him gently to the floor. but he's gone as soon as Aziraphale is comfortable. Aziraphale surrenders, weak with telepathic pleasure. "I know you like it slow- agonizingly so. You like the ache, the magma in your veins. You crave the heaviness, the heat. Well here you are, my dove; agony it is." Aziraphale sobs, arching into hands and a mouth that aren't there. "You know how I like to watch." 

Aziraphale, through hooded eyes, spots Crowley perched with his legs crossed on the edge of his counter, smug and casual as always. "Oh, don't you worry angel. I'll join you soon enough. But for now I just want to see you move. You're stunning from here, too, but that's no surprise." A slow wave of heat crests over Aziraphale's body, pulling him just past consciousness before washing him back to the bookshop floor. 

"Crowley..." he begs. 

"Oh dove..." Crowley saunters over, that sway somehow even more bastard like. He crouches down next to Aziraphale, taking his chin gently between two fingers and shifting his face closer. "Come for me."


	2. An Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the initial shock wears off, our divine duo partake in quite a bit of exploration into these unexpected perks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the almost month long wait, friends. I've had some health challenges, and have had a difficult time focusing on anything! I'm doing better though, and I hope you enjoy this.

"Angel!" Crowley bursts gleefully through the shop door, a small white paper bag in one hand. The little chimes above the door signal his arrival, but to Aziraphale, his lover's light steps had echoed louder for several minutes now as Crowley paced quickly back to the shop after a quick errand.

"Ah, there you are my dear. Was wondering where you'd got to."

Crowley slid the small sack across the smooth wood surface of the front counter. "Well then, what's this?"

"Dunno. Maybe you should find out." Aziraphale raised one eyebrow, smirking shyly. Crowley loved surprising him with little things here and there. It was almost too much; he wasn't used to so many gifts. When he explained this to Crowley, however, he insisted upon helping Aziraphale get used to it. So, in fact, the gifts increased greatly with frequency. Never anything too extravagant. Flowers, pastries, little books that catch his eyes in shop windows. Aziraphale uncurls the top of the bag, crinkling the paper out a bit straighter. A warm and sweet sroma floods his sense of smell. His eyes shut as he inhales deeply.

"Mmmm! Crowley, how did you know? I've been craving ecalirs all morning!"

"I know- I heard you lamenting about it."

"Good heavens, I really do love pastries, don't I?" He smiles widely, eyes crinkling at the corners. Crowley can't help but laugh in return; seeeing his angel love things makes Crowley love his angel even more. And like a set of russian dolls which somehow only get bigger as you open them up, their love grows wider with every little smile. Crowley leans across the counter, puckering his lips in a slight pout. Aziraphale gives him an eclair-sweet kiss.

"Mm, pretty damn good."

"Aren't they delicious? Do you see now why I couldn't get themm out of my mind?"

"Didn't mean the pastry, angel." Crowley walks casually past him, laying a playful smack to Aziraphale's ass.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale pretends to be scandalized. Crowley pours himself another cup of coffee from the pot in the back room, snickering to himself. They had fallen just enough into a routine to be comfortable, but not so much that it felt anything less than brand new. They had, in fact, done quite a bit of research regarding the whole telepathic bond and empath connection. What they had discovered thus far, to their delight, included the fact that not every thought they had was shared telepathically, just the powerful ones. Thus, the teasing about how much Aziraphale must love pastries. Crowley had developed a habit of fetching for his angel anything he happened to be craving strongly enough for Crowley to hear about it telepathically. Or, of course, i his angel mentioned it aloud. But usually eh heard it telepathically before anywhere else.

They came to the conclusion that, unless they were extremely engrossed in a thought (such as a sexual fantasy) the other wouldn't be aware of their individual thoughts. However, the empathy bond was inherent anytime either of them was feeling anything powerful, such as physical pleasure. They could intentionally share thoughts and experiences through telepathy if they put in the effort; the empathy was entirely out of their control and was communicated through the body, not the mind or the heart.

So Crowley knows when Aziraphale is craving a certain pastry, or enjoying a book, or wanting him in the bedroom. And Aziraphale can tell when Crowley's enjoying a song, thinking of his favorite films, or thinking about him (in almost any capacity). Crowley feels the warmth seep into Aziraphale's bones when he takes a bubble bath. Aziraphale knew when Crowley burnt his finger lighting a candle the other day. They've grown closer like any couple, but their bonds serve to expedite the process. oy, bliss, pain, fear; it's all doubled. And absolutely nothing of consequence can be hidden. They revel in the irony; six thousand years of repression and hiding only to end up attached at the heart as well as the hip. But neither of them had complaints. 

******

London's abundant lights reflect in distorted glowing ripples on the wet pavement, contrasting the inky black and blue shadows of the night around them. Like elusive fairies that can fly only at night time, the lights bring an excitement and celebratory energy every night. Crowley and Aziraphale love going out; to live, finally, wholly, in the presence of one another without holding anything back. They dance and drink, they take in shows, and sometimes they just walk or drive; taking it in as if the past six thousand years had been only a preview, and finally the curtain had risen. 

Crowley takes a slow curve onto an exit they hadn't taken in recent memory. The lights begin to fade, stars taking their place. And a bright, low-hung moon, full and near daylight in her glory. The rain has let up sometime between when Aziraphale slipped into his thoughts and now, when the change in scenery coaxes him out. Crowley lowers the windows; a warm breeze fills the car. 

"Where is it you're taking me, my dear?"

"I told you it was a surprise." Crowley reaches over squeezing Aziraphale's thigh playfully. His hand lingers heavily, warm and familiar. Aziraphale had always thought Crowley had nice hands. In recent weeks, he finally got the chance to have his theories confirmed. Crowley's hands were larger than his, and quite strong. They brought comfort interlocked with his own hands, and blissful devastation under other circumstances. Aziraphale sometimes feels as though he lives, flies, rejoices, wavers, swoons, and dies by Crowley's hands. He prefers the taste of honey when he's sucking it from Crowley's index and middle fingers, and longs for those same digits to find him between his thighs in just the right spot...

"Angel," he teases gently. Aziraphale makes a terrible habit of falling into fantasies of Crowley while they're driving. He's not sure if it's the closeness and quiet, the opportunity to daydream, the beauty of the world flashing by, or the sight of Crowley taking easy command over a powerful piece of machinery. Whatever it is, there was a near guarantee that if they found themselves in the car, Aziraphale would need to be gently reminded not to distract Crowley with his fantasies. 

Dark greenery passes in a blur outside the open windows. The highway winds more loosely out here; riding with the Earth rather than cutting through. Aziraphale watches Crowley's face as the moonlight beams through the windshield. His just slightly longer hair and the beginnings of a beard are fairly new. And he's taken to removing his glasses in private with Aziraphale at the angel's request to see his eyes more often. He looks, to Aziraphale, like so many others he had seen like this after they had found such a love; as though he had seen eternity, and been granted permission to take a small piece of it with him. Crowley looks like he carries a piece of God in his pocket now, and Aziraphale can't help but wonder if loving him had put it there. 

Aziraphale believed from day one that Crowley was the most beautiful man to ever walk the Earth, Heavens, Hell, or anywhere else. He kept his eyes peeled for six millenia, but never met anyone who came close. But now, in this car on this empty road under the full moon, Crowley is in love with him and able to let it show. Aziraphale thinks that he may in fact be as beautiful as the Universe itself. After all, what is Crowley, what is he, what is anything, if not parts of the Unvierse? Waves crash on shores along every continent, pulled in close by the moon. Aziraphale feels weak in Crowley's arms as he's reeled in close to Crowley's body. The planets trace their paths lazily; Crowley traces patterns across the freckles on his skin. The sun and moon chase one another across the sky as they dance in Crowley's living room. Waterfalls flow over bends and curves, and Crowley's hands stroking down his naked sides. Everything breathes and moves and sighs in unison, and they find themselves in bed again. 

Crowley slows, taking a left onto a small gravel road. It takes them into the trees, the white moonlight obstructed and spilling down through the gaps in the leaves. Finally the trees begin to break, and the sky opens up again. Crowley pulls to a gentle stop on top of a grassy hill. White flowers glow in the moonlight around a big blanket in the grass. Crowley appears at his door, holding it open and taking Aziraphale's hand as he steps out. 

"What's all of this then?"

"Just a little something because I love you." The I love you's had been a source of gentle dispute, as neither could recall who said it first, or when. Crowley claims Aziraphale said it the night they left the theatre early. Aziraphale swears Crowley said it within hours of the showdown between Heaven and Hell. Truth be told, though, he thinks he heard Crowley's voice echoing in his dreams for years before then, "I love you, I love you angel. Aziraphale...Aziraphale, I love you so much." 

From the back seat he pulls out a small picnic basket, taking Aziraphale's hand in the other. He leads him over to the blanket, situating himself just slightly behind the angel, tucking one leg in while stretching the other one out parallel to Aziraphale's outstretched legs. He unfurls two glasses from a cloth, handing one to the angel. He pulls a bottle of Dom Perignon out next, and a bucket of ice. Crowley pops the cork, pouring two glasses. 

"Now..." he says, handing one glass back to Aziraphale. "Do you know what Dom Perignon said when he invented champagne?"

"Yes, something about tasting the stars wasn't it?"

"Exactly right. 'Come quickly, I'm tasting the stars.'" Crowley lifted his index finger to the sky and pointed at one star in particular. 

"What I'm willing to bet you don't know..." he brought his finger back, hovering over the lip of his own glass, "Is that when I invented the stars, I decided that they should taste like freedom." On the tip of Crowley's finger rests a small white orb. Surely not, Aziraphale thinks. Stars are huge and spectacular burning masses. Crowley drops the orb into his glass, watching it fizz and fill with white gold light. He lifts it to Aziraphale's lips, letting him sip. Aziraphale has never tasted, truly tasted divinity. Felt it, seen it, even created it. But it tasted like something too. It tasted like life. Like having the windows down on a winding highway. Like watching the moonlight on Crowley's face. 

"Crowley...what exactly is this?" They both chuckle. 

"Alright, it's not a star 'per se', but it is star stuff. It's like, when you bake a cake and you can taste the love." He nudges Aziraphale's shoulder gently. 

"So when you made the stars you put in...?"

"All sorts of stuff, angel. I felt a great deal of freedom, when I was making them that is. I figured it had to have gotten in there some way." 

They both look up in silence, admiring their work. Crowley sips a bit himself before setting his glass down. "One for your glass?"

"Oh yes, please!" Crowley instructs him to shut his eyes and hold his glass out. He smiles wide, in near shock. Crowley truly had a taste for the romantic, and he didn't know until just recently. 

"Alright, open 'em." Aziraphale looks into his glass, which is fizzing like Crowley's. He tips it back slowly, tasting the stars. Tasting freedom. Something clinks in his glass though, pulling him back from his reverie. He lifts the glass, observing it closely. The fizz is thick and clouds the glass, but through the bubbles he catches occasional glimpses of something gold and solid in the bottom. 

"Crowley what is this?"

"What, angel?"

"Here, in the bottom. What is that?"

He lifts his glass, showing Crowley, who makes a show of looking perplexed. "Well I'm not sure, angel. Why don't you go ahead and finish the glass- you'll get a better look that way." 

It baffles Crowley how slowly Aziraphale seems to catch on. A romantic evening under the stars, champagne, and a foreign object in his glass. Whatever could be occurring here tonight? But he does- he finishes it off in a few moments. And there, in the last dregs of star dust and fizz and champagne, is a gold band with black etchings. 

"What on Earth is this, Crowley? You know you don't have to give me so many gifts, my love. I appreciate them so, but-"

"It's not exactly a gift, actually. It's more of a question."

"A question?"

Crowley can't believe it. As if Aziraphale really did not see this as a remote possibility. He laughs uncontrollably, shaking with it. "Yes, angel. You know- a suggestion. A proposition. A...proposal?"

"Oh." Aziraphale whispers. Crowley takes his glass and pours the ring out. He dries it on his jacket and holds it up. 

"Aziraphale, I know it may be safe to assume some things here about this. I know certain things are a given between us. But I want us to have the chance to mark the occasion. The victory we've won with each other. I want us to have the chance to celebrate this. " He lays the ring into Aziraphale's hand, letting him hold it like a consideration. "Would you marry me?"

Aziraphale can only nod, with shock and tears washing over his expression. Crowley slips the ring on, smiling first at the sight of it on his hand, then up at Aziraphale's face. Crowley cradles his chin gently, and tastes freedom again on Aziraphale's mouth. The tears, the lips, the champagne and the stars, they all taste the same to him. 

He parts their lips again, asking against Aziraphale's mouth as they smile, "So is that a yes?"

"Yes, of course it's a yes!"

"Good, I'm glad. Here," Crowley says, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and pulling out a second ring; black with gold etching. The mirror image of Aziraphale's ring. "Will you put this one on for me?" 

"Of course." Aziraphale slides the ring onto Crowley's left hand. 

******

Aziraphale stirs red wine into the pasta sauce, humming quietly to the music. Crowley reaches across him, dumping some spices into the steaming pot. Crowley slips a spoon in, tasting the sauce.

"that's not ready yet!" 

Crowley laughs in his ear. "I know," he says into Aziraphale's hair, "But it's still good." He kisses his temple, his brow, down his cheek. He kisses the shell of his ear, and his lips. And he kisses his lips again, and again. Crowley sips and drinks from his mouth like someone who didn't realize how thirsty they were. He pecks along his jaw, then down onto his neck. Crowley lays soft, careful kisses down one side of Aziraphale's neck, pausing when Aziraphale slides his hands into Crowley's hair. He tugs on the long strands (had it really gotten that long already?), encouraging Crowley to continue. And he does; he continues down and back up, kissing slower. Aziraphale starts to let little "Oh"s and sighs out. Crowley nips playfully. 

"My angel likes neck kisses then, yeah?" he asks, blowing hot over the side of Aziraphale's neck. Goosebumps raise on Aziraphale's arms as he tries to keep his reactions to what he deems an appropriate level. It's difficult, though- Crowley's mouth exactly where he wants it is like a hot coal in a pile of dry brush- more than enough to cause a dangerous combustion. Crowley takes his hand, feeling the cool press of the metal ring against his fingers. 

"Ah-" he chokes back and whimpers quietly, "Yes, it's-" 

Crowley presses him to the counter abruptly, slotting Aziraphale's hips squarely under his. He doesn't roll, or flex. It's just enough; just a suggestion. He reattaches himself now to the other side, laving hot, open mouthed kisses all across Aziraphale's skin. He tries to be more quiet, tries not to let Crowley know just how he's affecting him. But it slips from his mouth entirely out of his control; and anyway, Crowley feels the heat rising in Aziraphale's veins like it's his own. 

"Ahhh, Crowley," Aziraphale sounds almost panicked. Crowley had never heard Aziraphale say his name quite like that. Not in their days and weeks of time spent together (a solid majority of which was passed in bed). He knew he had stumbled across something here, silently berating himself for not having done this sooner. Crowley takes him by the hips, pulling him down onto the floor. He positions himself over Aziraphale, using one hand to cradle Aziraphale's face while the other brings his hip up to wrap around Crowley's waist. Crowley begins to suck purposefully on his neck, letting his tongue trace the small patch of skin while his lips were attached. As he pulls away, he attaches his teeth and bites. Not painfully, but just enough to hopefully-

Aziraphale sobs beneath him, tugging hard at his hair. He begins to rock upwards into Crowley's pelvis, hoping to get some relief, or spur Crowley into finally touching him. But Crowley moves with him, allowing the most minimal amount of friction as possible. Aziraphale sobs again, broken and pleading. He gasps when Crowley returns to the other side, this time laving similar hot, agonizing kisses with his mouth right at the base. It seems to be exactly what Aziraphale wants, too. He buries his face in Crowley's shoulder, tears soaking through Crowley's old Rolling Stones shirt. He whimpers as Crowley continues, starting again with leaving purple bruises anywhere it seems to strike his fancy. 

Aziraphale feels that familiar sudden flush all over his body. He tries desperately, desperately to stop it. To think of something else, to beg himself not to let it happen like this. He so badly wants Crowley to show some mercy, to carry him to bed. To touch him, at the very least. But that doesn't seem to be in the plan. His stomach drops as Crowley bites into the fresh mark in that one spot. That spot that always got him to gasp- but that was when it was a stop along the way to other things. Now here he is, weak and dizzy, entirely drunk on lust and desperation, with Crowley locked right onto that one spot. His hands find Crowley's shoulder blades and dig in fiercely, a last ditch effort to hang on. But Crowley's mouth drags across that spot once more, and he has no control whatsoever. 

Aziraphale inhales deeply, like it was his first and last breath ever. His head falls back, body straining and arching from shoulder to hip. He arches into Crowley hard, and tries to scream, to gasp, to use his voice in any way to alleviate some of the intensity. He feels the fire in his veins and a zap of energy from the base of his spine through the top of his head. Crowley flexes his hips above him once, spilling and choking back a sob of his own. 

For a moment, they don't recognize where they are. They're not in the kitchen anymore; they're in bed. Aziraphale turns to his side to face Crowley. "Were we...? Was that a dream?"

"I think it must have been." Crowley turns to face him now, both scooting closer together in the center of the bed. Sharing dreams wasn't uncommon these days; they were grateful when it wasn't a nightmare. Crowley wraps his arm over Aziraphale's shoulders, kissing whatever part of his face was visible. They were both exhausted. the dreams were always so vivid they may as well be real. 

"Do you really like it that much? When I kiss your neck?" 

Aziraphale feels a brief moment of embarrassment. Recalling now how he had basically just been kissed to completion, coming entirely untouched. He feels the evidence against his stomach and thighs and wonders if Crowley's in a similar state. "Yes," he confesses sheepishly, trying to hide a bit more of his face in the darkness. Crowley caresses his head through the blankets, placing a reassuring kiss to what he hopes is Aziraphale's forehead. 

"Don't be embarrassed, angel. You've nothing to be ashamed of. It was hot as all Hell and probably the sexiest thing I've ever seen. And I wish you'd tell me these things so I didn't have to find out on accident."

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't apologize." He kisses him once more on the top of the head. "I just want to make it good for you."

Aziraphale blushes, "Oh believe me...it's very good."

They laugh softly, kissing each other's smiles. 

"Should we take a shower, then?" Crowley suggests quietly. Aziraphale blushes again, grappling a bit with the fact they had both come in their sleep sharing a dream. 

******

It was Aziraphale who had brought it up, to Crowley's surprise. His angel had grown more confident, more assertive since their getting together. But he did still blush often and beautifully any time Crowley flustered him even a little. Apparently, though, he had not had his eyes as closed to the world as Crowley had thought. When Aziraphale mentioned tantra (after several minutes of working up the courage), Crowley was more than receptive. He grinned mischievously, already impatient to edge his angel for hours (or perhaps days even). 

"Well, I just, I thought it may be...intriguing, and perhaps, er, something we might both enjoy?"

"Oh yes angel. I have to say, I'm quite intrigued already." 

That night they locked themselves in Crowley's flat with enough wine and pastries to last them a week, and went to bed for the first time with the express intention of not satisfying one another. Crowley sat cross legged on the bed and helped Aziraphale ease into his lap. the angel wrapping his legs around Crowley's waist and finding balance with his arms around his neck. They kissed with surprising chastity, more happy just to be so close than anything. 

"Alright, so how does this work then?"

"Yes, well, first we just relax. We breathe and get in sync. Concentrate on building energy to the surface, good feelings. And then after a while, we...um..."

"Do it?"

"Yes, well, I mean...not quite. It's about creating a connection and...um..."

"Breathing, then foreplay." Crowley's bluntness and utter lack of inhibition never failed to cause Aziraphale as much flustered blushing as it did arousal. Thank Someone they could read one another's minds; Crowley wouldn't know half of what it is Aziraphale wants from him otherwise. And so they begin, just breathing. They lean their foreheads against one another, inhaling and exhaling, until it becomes a habit. An immediate, inherent action that just simply happens. They start to feel quiet, with minimal thoughts between them and a greater focus on what's happening now. It's quite meditative; to just be. Aziraphale knows when it's time, though. He places one hand over Crowley's heart, moving Crowley's hand to cover his own. 

"Feel that?"

"All synced up." He whispers, moving just slightly to cover Aziraphale's lips with his own. They kiss, and breathe, and feel one another's hearts beating in unison. Crowley holds his face gently, tasting from his mouth as though he might move too quickly. If the key is to build energy, starting very, very softly is probably a good bet on his part. Aziraphale melts due in part to the soft kisses, and also to how dedicated Crowley is to making this what he wants it to be. He had never really brought a suggestion like this forward; it feels so good to have Crowley receive his request with such enthusiasm. 

Crowley explores his face and neck carefully; he doesn't want to cause too much excitement too soon. And after that dream about kissing Aziraphale on the kitchen floor, he knows just how powerful a well placed neck kiss can truly be. Aziraphale sighs gently, loving the affection. Crowley smiles into his neck, hoping his angel can feel just how much he adores him. 

They had established a safeword quickly. Aziraphale had a taste for being under control and Crowley was eager to please him. Aziraphale had suggested they use the word to alert the other that things had escalated and if they wanted to avoid climax, they needed to stop. Crowley, however ewas hesitant. 

"I'd rather you be able to use your safeword for its original purpose, just in case you need it. So maybe we need another word."

""Alright, that seems fair. What do you suggest? I picked the last one." Aziraphale picked his safeword with care and consideration that only he could have used. Eventually, he decided on "bookmark," feeling it reflected the nature of any situation in which he may need to use it- a pause, a placeholder. 

Crowley was less concerned with symbolism. "Duck tape."

"Duck tape?"

"Problem?"

"Dearest...you know the phrase is 'duct' tape, right?"

"Yes, of course I do. What do you take me for? It's just funny, 'S all."

"Alright, duck tape it is." 

"Good, glad that's settled." Crowley states with sarcasm and a wink. 

is touches become more intentional again, shifting from lazy circles traced on Aziraphale's back to more purposeful strokes down his sides and over his thighs. Crowley returns to his mouth, pulling him closer with one hand between his shoulder blades and cupping his cheek with the other. Crowley's mouth parts his lips gently, taking a slow tongue across his bottom lip before taking it between his lips and sucking, pulling away slowly and catching it between his teeth. He traces back over the lip with his tongue before dipping into Aziraphale's mouth at last, stroking lavishly. Aziraphale moans into his mouth appreciatively, muffled and low. 

"Love touching you. Love making you feel good...the noises you make. And how you move for me, Aziraphale, you;re just fucking perfect."

Crowley feels Aziraphale flush in his arms, whole body ticking up in temperature just slightly. Aziraphale loves knowing he's doing something Crowley likes. He can't help but push into Crowley's lap, gasping when he feels Crowley's hot and hardening cock brush against his. He flashes to memories of Crowley, taking him as deeply as possible. The feeling of being so close to him always makes him feel just slightly out of his mind. 

Crowley groans, clearly remembering the feeling as well. Crowley grasps onto one of his thighs and lays him back slowly, coming to rest between Aziraphale's legs. Aziraphale wraps his calves around Crowley's waist, drawing him in close. Crowley takes a gentle hold on his har, tilting his chin up just enough to nibble at his throat. He starts to nip down Aziraphale's neck and over his chest, fully intending to devour his tummy and thighs before taking him in his mouth. 

"Oh dearest, as much as I love that, I think it best...ahh...for our little-experiment- ahh, if we stay, erm, close?"

Crowley swirls his tongue around one nipple before righting himself. "Tempter." Aziraphale accuses. 

Crowley chuckles in his ear, laying soft kisses on his cheek. With one of Aziraphale's thighs in hand and his face in the other, Crowley watches with fascination as he rolls his hips across Aziraphale's gently. The angel's face slips into that peaceful, lovely place Crowley thinks may kill him one day. He thrusts softly, slowly against his lover, letting their stomachs and cocks slide together with heat and friction. 

Crowley takes them both in hand, running slick and warm lubricant up the both of them in a firm stroke. 

"There, that's better, hm?"

Aziraphale gasps his reply, arching into Crowley's solid frame above him. He lets his nails dig slightly into Crowley's arm, pressed into the bed next to him. Crowley takes the hand in his, pressing them both into the mattress as he continues moving, letting his thrusts guide his hand over the both of them. As much as Aziraphale loves making love to him, he thinks he may like this just as much. The motions of sex, the friction and desperation that comes with feeling his lover move against him as though they were fucking, without the satisfaction of actually doing so. ("You dirty birdy," Crowley had teased, the first time Aziraphale had been in his lap, fully clothed, and began the motions of riding him. Crowley's jeans and Aziraphale's trousers had provided such wonderful friction, keeping them both restrained and just a little bit numb to the full effect of touching one another). Now Crowley uses it to his advantage.

He looks intently into Aziraphale's eyes, confessing, "I love you."

"I love you too, Crowley. So, so muh-!"

Crowley flexes his hips, taking a particularly firm thrust. 

"Ohh! Ahhh...Oh, Crowley, love-" Aziraphale inhales through his teeth, hissing in an attempt to not come. Crowley drags across his skin again, and he knows he's had far too much.

"Oh! Duck tape, duck ta-ahh-"

Crowley pulls away, dragging his hands and body from his lover in disappointment. It was like putting one's fork down, despite still being hungry. They lay together in stillness and quiet, the gray light seeping in around the drawn drapes. Crowley strokes wet hair from Aziraphale's pink face, petting gently at his cheek. They try to cuddle, finding it just a bit too tempting for the moment. So Crowley covers him over with a blanket, taking out Aziraphale's book and switching on the nightstand lamp. Crowley's low voice carries him right off to sleep. 

**********

When Aziraphale wakes up, he's still covered over with the blanket, but the bed is empty. The smell of garlic, herbs, and pasta sauce serves to awaken him that much quicker though, and he rises out of the bed to investigate. 

Crowley is in the kitchen, dressed in an old t-shirt and baggy gray joggers. His bare feet are cold against the tile floor as he stands at the stove, humming quietly. The door creaks despite Aziraphale trying to keep quiet as he peaks around into the kitchen, watching Crowley quietly. Crowley looks up, finding Aziraphale peering around the corner dressed in his long dark blue robe. The silk is cool against his warm skin. 

Crowley can't believe his eyes. Aziraphale is somehow more beautiful, more stunning than ever. His angel wrapped up warm in something of Crowley's fills him to the brim with love. Crowley drops the spoon by mistake, splattering spots of sauce across the stove top. 

"Shit." Crowley leans against the counter, drying his hands on a tea towel and shaking his head.

"Oh, I'm sorry. is it alright that I've borrowed this?"

"Yes, angel! Of course. I'm sorry, I just. I'm very in love with you, 's all." Crowley's eyes soften looking at him. Ruffled blond curls, blue eyes more sparkling with the dark blue of the robe. Aziraphale smiles softly, looking away at his feet. it occurs to crowley that Aziraphale is likely naked under the robe, but he chases the thought away in the interest of keeping their plans. He motions Aziraphale over, cradling the angel against his side. 

"Hungry?"

"Oh yes, starving!"

"Good. Here, have a taste. Tell me what it needs."

Crowley lifts the spoon to his lips, cooling it for Aziraphale. He sips cautiously, the sauce still hot. It's delicious though, and he can't help but "Mmmm," about it. 

"Good?"

"Yes, very good."

"Go sit down I'll make you a plate."

Crowley brings two plates over to the table, serving Aziraphale with a gentle kiss to the top of his head. He lights the long tapers in the center of the table, sitting next to Aziraphale. It's midday, but the sun is tucked away behind a heavy London cloud cover. The rain falls outside the window as they eat, talking and laughing. 

"This is delicious, my dear. I didn't know you were such an excellent cook."

"Thanks, angel. Picked a few things up here and there over time. Didn't get decent until around the time we started our little arrangement though." 

"Oh? And what prompted such a thing?"

"Well, I fell in love with someone who loves food. Figured...would be wise to learn how to make some."

"Oh, oh well that's. Crowley, that's very romantic of you." 

Crowley rises, clearing the plates and kissing him in response. Aziraphale lingers in the dining room, contemplating how lovely it feels to be planned for. Accommodated. Wanted around. He goes to join Crowley in the kitchen, finding him placing the dishes in the sink. Crowley turns around, stepping into Aziraphale's space on accident. He begins to apologize, but Aziraphale grabs him, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. Crowley takes his waist, delighting in the feeling of his own silk robe around his love's familiar frame. Aziraphale breaks the kiss, murmuring against Crowley's lips.

"Round two?"

"Ohhh, you are-" Crowley kisses him again, unable to stay away for too long, "-so on." He smacks Aziraphale's bum playfully, chasing him into the bedroom and slamming the door on the way in. 

Aziraphale squeaks, trying to squirm away from Crowley and hoping he doesn't succeed. Crowley captures him though, pinning him to the bed and covering his face in kisses. Aziraphale laughs in delight as Crowley tickles his sides lightly. Crowley ducks under the hem of his robe, placing a raspberry on Aziraphale's full tummy. 

"Ahh! Crowley!" He can't help but shouting, laughing at how silly his lover can be. Crowley's raspberries turn to kisses, which he smears lightly across Aziraphale's warm, soft tummy. Crowley kisses him with such love, Aziraphale is completely without words. There is nothing to be said; he can only enjoy it.

Eventually, Crowley places one final kiss to his low belly before pulling Aziraphale up into his lap once more. He looks into his eyes, asking permission with his fingers on the sash at Aziraphale's waist. Aziraphale nods, feeling Crowley's fingers untie the knot and pulling the robe open, placing warm hands on his bare waist and pushing the sides open just enough to expose his chest and stomach. Crowley traces his fingertips down to where his lips had just been, feeling Aziraphale's stomach flutter under his touch. 

Crowley rests his hands on Aziraphale's middle, holding him close. He finds Aziraphale's eyes again, frustrated at the dimness of the room. 

"Close your eyes, angel." Aziraphale does, expecting a kiss. But something flickers in front of his closed lids, and he opens them again to find the room aglow in candle light. Candles of all sizes lined the tables, window sills, shelves, and bedframe. 

"Oh, Crowley."

"Couldn't see you before. This is better."

They still themselves after that, finding that connection once more. After a few moments, Aziraphale feels his heart skip once before starting again. When it does, he feels an echoing beat. He reaches out tentatively, touching Crowley's bare chest, finding his theory to be true. Their hearts now beat in unison. 

"Oh, well that's..."

"Beautiful." 

A sense of absolute love and joy sweeps over them both, making them take a few deep breaths as it washes over them. There is a subtle pink flash in the air around them, surrounding them for a moment in a bubble of pink light. Aziraphale feels love of a new kind for a moment. It takes a second, but he pinpoints it as love for himself, in addition to Crowley. He feels a sudden realization for how much he loves himself, as if he were someone else, watching himself with adoration. 

"Do you feel that?"

"Is it..I think I'm feeling your love...for me?"

"I believe we both are," Aziraphale gasps, complete awe washing over him. Crowley's face softens, mouth wobbling as though he may cry.

"My love?"

Crowley swallows, choking back his tears. "I, uh...I'm just relieved. That I'm able to love you as much as you love me. 'S nice to know, you know? That I'm not...short changing you."

"Oh, my dear. Crowley, I had no idea you were worried about that. It never occurred to me that you would love me any...differently than I might love you." Aziraphale was hesitant to use the word "less," not wanting to upset Crowley. He can't help but let a few tears slip out himself, shuddering to think Crowley may have been worried about such a thing. 

"My dear. Oh my love, do you know what I feel when I feel your love? I feel exactly what I feel when I'm loving you. I feel infinite."

Crowley looks at him through wet eyelashes, still desperately holding his tears back. He doesn't seem to understand yet, though. So Aziraphale explains. 

"i think about the beach, and how there are an infinite number of grains of sand one every shore. And somehow, that number is increased by the fact that there are so many beaches in the world. I think about how the stars go on forever in all directions, and yet somehow the Universe is still expanding, increasing upon an already unending number. Crowley, I think about how there was never a true 'beginning' to time, and how that likely means there will never be a true 'ending,' and I am reminded that, no matter what, so long as there exists love, I will be out there somewhere, loving you. Just as I do now. My love for you is tied to my love for the Universe. It cannot be changed, or destroyed. It exists permanently because it exists right now, and so because there is you and me, and because we love one another, we are infinite. And I feel that same love, Crowley, that same infinity, reflected right back at me. An already endless love, increased somehow because you love me too."

Crowley's face is hidden in Aziraphale's shoulder, tears slipping gently down his face and onto Aziraphale's skin. He sniffles quietly, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. He feels taken apart, seen, known. Just as he does after they've made love all night. 

Crowley has no idea how to begin to respond. He looks up into Aziraphale's clear blue eyes, made warm in the glow of the candle light. His own eyes are gleaming with tears, golden and bright. So much in love. In bafflement. In disbelief. In undeniable joy. Crowley sweeps a warm hand up his back, over his shoulder, and back down his chest. He settles on Aziraphale's warm tummy, full of pasta that he had made. Any pain or shame Crowley had been holding on to melts away; he loves, and is loved, and the warmth, the safety they have found and created for one another envelopes him entirely. 

Crowley draws from his lips softly, pulling on the love he finds there, wanting more. He deepens the kiss, scorching and reverent. Aziraphale is a beaming, flaming source of passion and pure light. And he finally feels worthy. Finally feels equal. And he lets Aziraphale draw from him, devouring each other in smoldering, unbound desire. 

Aziraphale grinds down into Crowley's lap, creating friction against heated skin and aching bodies. He moans, high and broken, into Crowley's mouth. Taking his face in one hand in order to get a deeper angle, trying to satisfy himself any way he can. Crowley rocks up into him, matching that want, that need stroke for stroke. 

"For Somebody's sake, Aziraphale. I fucking love you, fuck do I love you."

"Mmmm...ah, Crowley. I- ah. I...love you so much."

"Wanna...ah...wanna make you feel good. Wanna touch you. Wanna make you scream."

Crowley's mind wandered, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to Aziraphale. His hands on his body, mouth between his legs. Hi thinks about putting Aziraphale on his back, opening him up gently with his fingers, and working him with his tongue. Imagines massaging his prostate slowly with his very useful serpent tongue. Imagines allowing his nose to nudge sweetly at Aziraphale's prostate from the outside. He thinks about how his angel sighs and whimpers for him, threading seeking fingers into his long hair. 

Aziraphale shivers above him, scraping his nails down Crowley's bare shoulders. 

"Please, please, yes!" He begs, wanting to just throw it all out. the whole plan. It had brought them some beautiful moments, a deeper connection, an important conversation. So why wait? He wanted Crowley so badly. Wanted what Crowley had imagined, with his lover's tongue working so slowly against him. Wanted Crowley's hands on his thighs and his hand in his hair, wanted...

Crowley hated to see it end. He wanted so badly to stay here, to keep doing this, to stay just this close, just this electric. But he wanted even more to do what Aziraphale wanted. And what Aziraphale wanted was to draw it out, tease and edge and tantalize, and to get closer to him. And he wasn't about to let him give in just because things got good. Even if they got very, very good... So he tore himself away. Tore his mouth from his lvoer's mouth, tore his hands from his lvoer's body. Knowing that soon, very soon, it would be worth it...

"Fuck! Duck tape. Fuck..."

Aziraphale pants deeply, grateful Crowley had been strong enough, clear enough to to it. He sure hadn't been. And given just a few more seconds, it all would have been shot to pieces. He shivers in Crowley's lap, feeling the remaining effects still coursing through his veins. 

**********

Crowley awakens to small kisses on his fingers, one by one pecked to awareness by the softest angel lips he could imagine. One candle burned on above them at the headboard. Aziraphale must have lit it, Crowley thinks, assuring himself he had put them all out before letting himself join Aziraphale in sleep. The clock reads three in the morning, and the room was dark and quiet, save the steady drum of rain outside. 

"I missed you."

"Aw, angel. 'M here. Right here." Crowley pulls him in, encircling his arms around Aziraphale's warm body. They breathe for a while, just enjoying one another's presence. 

"Couldn't sleep. Missed you too much." 

"Mmm..." Crowley kisses the top of his head, messy curls disheveled with sleep and sex.

"What can we do then? Hm? Should we have a bath maybe? Or a snack?"

"Bath sounds lovely." 

Crowley picks Aziraphale up, carrying him to the tub and setting him down on a stack of folded towels. He draws a hot bath, popping in some kind of something Aziraphale had brought over for him. He unwrapped the black paper, taking out a chalky orange Something about the size of a baseball. He drops it in, watching Aziraphale's small smile in delight. 

"It's a bath bomb! You'll love it. Smells wonderful."

"You smell wonderful," Crowley says, chuckling into his neck. 

Crowley steps in, taking his angel's hand and lowering them both into the hot water. The heat seeps into their muscles, easing away the built up tension. Aziraphale leans against Crowley's chest, wrapped up in his arms and legs. The ends of Crowley's firey hair dip just past the water, sticking hot to his shoulders and neck. Crowley uses a wash cloth to soap Aziraphale's skin, massaging him over soft curves and sore muscles. Crowley had given plenty of massages to his angel, and knew just where to spend extra time to make it lovely. 

He runs strong hands through Aziraphale's errant locks, wetting his hair with warm and relaxing touches. He scrubs in shampoo and conditioner, massaging the soap in with careful, expert fingers and perfect scratches all over his scalp. Once his hair is rinsed, Aziraphale turns around, resting on his curled legs and returning the favor. He washes Crowley's hair and skin, running soothing circles over his stiff back and tired arms. When he finishes, Crowley arches his neck back, looking at Aziraphale upside down. Aziraphale kisses him sweetly, delighting in the warm pecks and soft skin of his exhausted lover. 

Crowley turns around, pulling Aziraphale gently into his lap. They rest, kissing when it suits them, but mostly just leaning against one another in peaceful bliss. As Crowley's mind wanders, the next few thousand years flash with possibility in front of his eyes, and he can't help but squeeze Aziraphale in joy and excitement, gratitude for their future together. 

"Did you feel that?" Aziraphale asks, a little bit breathless.

"You mean the peace and relief of realizing we could literally do this for the rest of eternity? Yeah, I think I did." They laugh together, trying to kiss with huge smiles on their faces. 

"The candles were so lovely."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yes. You know I love some good old fashioned romance."

"Mmm, well. I think we can make that happen." The bathroom is suddenly flooded with light from many, many candles, as before. Crowley situates them again, with Aziraphale wrapped in his arms and their legs entwined comfortably. Crowley traces lazy circles over his chest, his tummy, his thighs. Eventually, Aziraphale does fall asleep.

**********

He wakes up just as warm, just as held, but in their bed, under heavy covers. One candle burns low on the headboard, illuminating Crowley's face, studying him as he slept. The candle itself glows with a soft halo of white, and he assumes Crowley has fixed it with some kind of safety mechanism. They smile softly to one another, just enjoying the silence. With their fingers intertwined and Aziraphale pressed to his chest, bodies as close as they could be, they take several silent moments for the first time in two days on accident, just admiring one another. Aziraphale breaks the gaze to look at something catching the corner of his vision. It's like a soft green smoke, and it surrounds them both completely. He feels Crowley's body as his own for a split second before returning to himself, the sensation of being both held by Crowley and being Crowley, holding him lingering in his veins. The edges between his nerve endings, his feelings, and Crowley's are blurred. It's difficult to tell what is his and what is Crowley's at this point. But it's all love, and bliss. It's warm skin, soft curves, firm muscle. It's loving eyes and messy hair. It's soft lips and gentle hands. 

He's not sure if it's the pouring rain, the soft candle light, or waking up as he fell asleep, in Crowley's protective embrace. Maybe it's finally getting to him, all this waiting and wanting and needing. Maybe he just fell in love a little more. Whatever it is, Aziraphale could not wait one moment longer. 

"Make love to me."

"You're sure, love? It's been long enough?"

"Please, I can't stand it any more. Touch me, Crowley. Make me come. I just need to be close with you."

Crowley takes him up in his arms, laying Aziraphale back slowly. They both feel the relief as their bodies align, knowing that finally, they could have one another again. Crowley attaches his mouth to Aziraphale's, sliding his slow tongue between the angel's lips. Aziraphale hums in appreciation, filling his hands with Crowley's long, soft hair. Crowley moves to his neck, but doesn't settle there. He drifts softly over the shell of Aziraphale's ear, down his throat, and over his collar bones. He kisses slowly down Aziraphale's stomach, sucking lightly at his belly. Crowley runs a light tongue over Aziraphale's hip crease, making him squirm and moan in anticipation. Crowley's tongue dips in again, licking along his thigh. 

"Ahhh..."

"Mmmm. Enjoying yourself?"

Crowley nips at his thigh, gripping it roughly. Azirapahle tries to respond, only getting out a mangled, affirmative sounding noise. Crowley chuckles, returning to his work. He sucks heavily above Aziraphale's cock, feeling the muscles quiver. Aziraphale wraps his thighs around Crowley, bucking into him with want. 

"Please, please love. I want you...so badly."

"Mmm...and what is it you want? What exactly?"

"I want you inside me. Want...want to feel you."

Crowley growls, nipping again. He picks Aziraphale's thighs up, lifting his hips and placing a pillow under them. Then he bends his knees, crawling between them, looking like a man starving for something to eat. Aziraphale gasps, trying to ready himself for what it appears Crowley may be about to do to him. Crowley dips his head, past Aziraphale's cock, and licks slowly at the patch of skin above his entrance. 

"Oh-ohhh! Ah, Crowley..."

Crowley takes his thighs in both hands, spreading them wide. He licks again, unrelenting, before taking the patch in his lips and sucking firmly. Aziraphale shouts his name now, on repeat like a chant. Like a summoning.

"Oh! Oh my! Crowley, Crowley! I- I can't! It's too much! Crowley, please, please...!"

Crowley finally slows, licking his way across the small opening between Aziraphale's cheeks. He licks around it, circling it slowly. Delving deeper, just a little, ever few strokes, opening his partner gently. His tongue swirls just inside, widening the ring of muscle in preparation for himself later. Aziraphale sighs heavily, scraping desperate nails through his hair. He arches into Crowley's mouth, trying not to scream. Crowley's tongue delves deep now, massaging at his lover's prostate softly. He nudges at it with his tongue, using his knuckle to rub from the outside. Aziraphale writhes against the bed, jerking hard. Crowley clamps his hips down, squeezing firmly. He hums into Aziraphale's body, sending sparks through his veins. 

"Oh! Ah, Crowley! Crowley, stop! I'll come! I don't want...oh, not like this, love. Want...want to feel you..."

Crowley pulls away, unable to continue if he hears the word 'stop', even if he knows Aziraphale is enjoying himself. He kisses hot, open lips across his quivering thighs, reveling in the shaking and little gasps he's drawing from Aziraphale. 

"Please..." the angel whispers again. He tugs Crowley up by his hair, making him chuckle and grin. 

"Alright, alright love. I think you're ready, anyway."

Crowley lowers over him, pink and hot all over. He watches Aziraphale, as he lines himself up. They both hiss through gritted teeth as Crowley nudges at his entrance, feeling it again as if for the very first time. Crowley checks again, wanting to be extra sure Aziraphale is comfortable. He nods eagerly, taking hold of Crowley's shoulder. Crowley presses their other hands, joined at the fingers, into the mattress as he pushes in slowly. 

As he does, they both flush, first hot, then a cold sweat coats them suddenly. Crowley eases in, eventually bottoming out. As they adjust, though, the sensation rises like a shock of intense pleasure, taking them both by surprise. in a split second, they're both coming, Crowley deep inside Aziraphale, and Aziraphale across both of their stomachs. Tingles zip through Crowley's fingers as he reaches for Aziraphale, who gasps again and again in shock. 

They slowly catch their breath, Crowley laid across his chest. He lifts his head, looking into Aziraphale's eyes for something. Azirapahle nods, feeling the answer to his own question still pressing hot between his thighs. Crowley lowers himself back down, wrapping Aziraphale's thighs around his hips. Aziraphale shifts though, trying for a deeper angle with his ankles hooked over Crowley's shoulders. Crowley helps him adjust, both moaning in appreciation at the new, deeper angle. Crowley leans down to kiss him, finding his head is swimming with pleasure. He can only really manage to press his lips to Aziraphale's over and over, thoughts fogged with bliss. The sensation is too much for now. Aziraphale lets his legs slip down to Crowley's hips once more, both agreeing it would be over far too soon. 

"Slowly..."

Crowley thrusts once, burying his face in Aziraphale's shoulder and crying out with ecstasy. The sensation is like nothing they have felt together before. 

"I feel it. All of it. I feel you, inside me. And I feel you, feeling me around you."

"It's...it's almost too much. Almost."

"I know." 

Aziraphale kisses his forehead, which rests on his shoulder as Crowley breathes across his face in hot puffs. A shiver runs down both of their spines, sparking at the base with white hot bursts of pleasure. They shake together for long moments, both unable to imagine moving. Sensations flood them both, pleasure rising again, entirely out of their own control. It washes over them now, lapping at their nerves like a rising tide. Aziraphale arches into him, gasping. 

"Again, I'm going to...again..."

Crowley shouts above him, feeling first his own climax, and then Aziraphale's. Spilling and twitching violently inside Aziraphale once more. The satisfaction that ills his body is so unexpected, he can't help but screaming, veins popping out in his neck and arms as they strain on either side of him, gripping the sheets harshly. 

"Ohhh...oh shit, fuck...that's...that's amazing..." 

Crowley's head spins, dizzy with pleasure. He props himself up on his elbows, kissing Aziraphale's mouth now. Aziraphale hums in satisfaction, leaning up to find Crowley's lips again as he tries to pull away. 

"Better?"

"Oh, like you weren't dying for it as well."

Crowley laughs against his lips, rubbing their noses together. They're both still completely hard, still wanting for more. He lowers his mouth to Aziraphale's neck, thrusting slowly, just moving with him for now. Azirapahle sighs, tipping his head back and letting Crowley wash him away. 

Crowley lets himself rut more firmly now, thrusting his hips against Aziraphale's and finding a deeper angle. He groans into his neck, feeling the heat and stretch around his hard cock. Aziraphale feels Crowley throb, both inside him, and as him now. He moans, breathy and outward. Crowley is hot and perfectly, beautifully hard inside him. It couldn't feel any more right. Crowley grabs one thigh now, hoisting it back over his shoulder and deeping things once more. They both pause, the pleasure causing their faces to fall into contorted arrangements. 

"Fuck, you feel incredible."

"Crowley, Crowley...I love you."

"I love you so much." Crowley gasps, eyes shut in concentration. He pumps rhythmically, building the pressure again in both of them slowly. Aziraphale's eyes fall shut now as well, letting his head fall onto the mattress with a thud. He can only lie back and feel, as Crowley takes over him fully, and he over Crowley. The heat, the pleasure coursing through his veins and muscles. He's felt it all before, but never this slowly. Never slowly enough to feel it so fully. To let it build over multiple days, to want for so long. There's no other way to feel it now, but so, so completely. 

They both lose track of everything except each other. With their eyes shut, nothing else exists, except feeling one another, and feeling themselves as the other experiences it. Crowley lifts his other thigh now, helping him hook it around his neck. Aziraphale's back arches up to accommodate the new angle, and he feels something slightly...new. He opens his eyes in curiosity, taking in the room around him. Things seem quite the same, except he can't feel the mattress below his back anymore. 

"Crowley," he whispers, not wanting to startle him.

"Mmmm...dove? Something wrong?"

"Open your eyes, my love."

Crowley does, taking in the sight before him. Aziraphale, flushed and gorgeous. Kiss swollen, rumpled hair. Eyes gleaming in the candle light. And about a foot off the bed, levitating in thin air. The soft green glow that had surrounded them earlier is now a brilliant white halo, illuminating shadows of them on the bed and the walls around the room. Crowley's jaw goes slack.

"I know, but...don't stop. Please."

Crowley slides a hand under his low back, resuming his rhythm of slow and steady thrusts inside Aziraphale. He leans down, kissing his neck again. Aziraphale moans his name, soaking in the feeling of Crowley's mouth on him as he moves so deeply with his body. Aziraphale's breathing picks up as he shuts his eyes again, tipping his head far back now, letting Crowley have full access. 

Aziraphale gasps little breaths with Crowley's name, holding again to his hair for dear life. 

"Crowley, Crowley! Something's...ahh, something's happening..."

Crowley, unsure if he should stop or not, watches Aziraphale, waiting for some kind of hint. 

"Dove?"

Just then, Aziraphale screams his name again, his huge, white wings sprouting suddenly from his back. A halo of gold light surrounds his face, as he writhes under Crowley. 

"Ohhh...fuck angel..."

Crowley's jet black wings shoot out as well, feeling the pleasure coursing through Aziraphale's body as well as his own. To Aziraphale's surprise, a matching halo manifests around Crowley's face as well, shining down onto him from above as they both begin to fall apart. 

"Oh, yes, yes..."

"Come, angel. Come for me..."

An ache that he would have mistaken for pain in any other situation shoots through Crowley's body, leaving him shaking and convulsing, crying out for Aziraphale. The angel isn't in much better shape, flashing suddenly with the same ache. In a second, they're both coated again in cold sweat, breathless and speechless. Crowley collapses on top of him, both wrapping their wings around one another as the white light around them closes in suddenly, blocking all sight and sound. 

Everything goes white. Aziraphale opens his eyes, seeing only white in all directions, and Crowley; standing in front of him, dressed in gold and white robes. Red hair a shock against the surroundings. Crowley walks to him, taking both of his hands. A red ribbon wraps itself around their hands, tieing its ends on top. 

"What is this?"

"Handfasting. It means...it means we are joined now. Our souls are merging." 

Crowley leans in to kiss him, their eyes shutting. And then there is nothing but silence, and white light, and the feeling of bliss. As though everything is, and has always been, right. And then there is the feeling of something warm. It isn't...anywhere. But if it were somewhere, it would be in his heart. Like a warm cup of tea, trickling down your chest from the inside. He enjoys it, just noticing how it feels. 

And then there is a word: Love. Love. Love. Love. Over and over, quietly. Sweetly. Like a realization. Love. Oh, love. Love. Of course. Love. Always Love. Everywhere. Love. Love. 

He begins to remember things. The apocalypse. The trials. The bathtub. The fire. Then it's other things. The burning bookshop. The breakups. The angels, tormenting him. Little things, big things. Things that happened centuries ago. Things that he forgot had upset him. Things that broke his heart, scared him, hurt him. Death, fear, war...it all flashes now. And then it's the fall. Falling through darkness for so long. And burning, maybe for longer. It all passes over him now, real again, but less upsetting. Less frightening. As though it's all being washed away. Brushed away, with Love. Love. Fixing the hurt, soothing the aches. Smoothing out the crinkles of fear and stress. Love, Love, Love. It's all gone now. Even the fall. 

It's all Love. And on the other side, a pink orb glows in the distance. The orb approaches now, getting bigger. It glows in front of him, no bigger than a fist. It's warm and soft, and he reaches for it, touching it gently. It feels smooth, and warm. Like that cup of tea again, like a familiar mug in his hands. He holds it, glowing and warm. It fades, though. It melts over his hands, dripping down into a puddle of pink, warm water. 

He kneels down, washing his face and hands with it instinctively. He sits by the small pool, tracing patterns in the water, watching the surface sparkle. He cups his hands, bringing them to his mouth to sip. It's refreshing and sweet, sparkling across his taste buds. 

Like tasting the stars. 

The thought brings him back a bit, remembering that night. Remembering his lover, their home. their bed. The pool fades, and the light of the place dulls away slowly. He feels soft sheets, and someone warm all around him. Feathers, black and white, and bare skin. Warm, wet skin. and ruffled hair. They open their eyes, looking softly at one another. They're wrapped together still, not having moved an inch from one another. Quiet moments pass between them; warmth and stillness. Aziraphale speaks first, in the softest whisper Crowley thinks he's ever heard. 

"Were...were we one person?"

"Must've been, dove." Crowley's voice is rough, low in his throat. 

"I remembered things...that happened to you. I remembered- Crowley, I remembered you falling. I felt it. Oh, my love, how awful..."

'C'mere. C'mere, angel. 'S okay, now. Everything's fine, now."

They just lie in bed for a while, no longer floating. Halos and auras gone. Wings still out, though; and they wrap them around each other, black and white and warm. 

"So glad we did that."

They both laugh, weak with afterglow and shared bliss. Then Crowley remembers suddenly.

"Oh! The...what did I call it? Hand, something?"

"Oh! The handfasting! Oh, Crowley! Do you know what this means?"

"No, dove."

"It means She approves. Only truly blessed matches between beings like us are able to be recognized like this. Crowley, it means we've been given her blessing."

"So...so you don't think anyone will be bothering us?"

"No, my love. We're free."

**Author's Note:**

> Part two soon.


End file.
